


three questions he asked (and one he didn't)

by johnsonzzzyc



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: M/M, University AU, don't get diabetes, i just really love zhangjun, is this puppy love? probably, literally just pure fluff, pure unadulterated mush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsonzzzyc/pseuds/johnsonzzzyc
Summary: yanjun seems to have a lot of questions for zhangjing lately.(aka three saturdays and three questions plus one day that's not even a saturday and yanjun doesn't even ask a question)





	three questions he asked (and one he didn't)

it was a relatively shitty day. zhangjing knew his vocal cords well, understood how they worked and reacted to various situations, so he groaned in a knowing frustration after waking up and feeling an all-too-familiar tickle dancing along the back of his throat.

eyes still shut, he waved his arm around until his palm made contact with his bedside table, wiggling his fingers around until they found and wrapped around his phone. he blinked away the blurriness clouding his vision wearily and clicked on the messages app, selecting the contact named “tan man” sitting second on his recents list.

_not feeling good. vocal cords are dying brb_

the reply was almost instant. knowing him, chaoze was probably already in the process of texting zhangjing to curse him out for being late to practice.

_ur lucky u dnt pull the sick thing alot fell better soon_

zhangjing rolled his eyes - chaoze’s awful grammar and spelling ailed his eyes more than waking up did, and that said a lot - and made a mental note to chastise him when his voice felt better. the numbers at the top of the screen spelled out 9:52 a.m. and zhangjing marveled at chaoze’s self-control, usually nonexistent, considering he hadn’t bombarded him with 128 text messages and 44 missed calls when zhangjing wasn’t present for their competitive vocal group’s practice, which always started promptly at 9:00 every wednesday and saturday morning.

it was currently saturday. zhangjing considered getting up momentarily to draw the curtains and shield his room from the unwanted waves of sunlight drifting in. it would be easy. he would just have to push aside his blanket, swing his legs over, walk to the window, and pull the curtains together, and then repeat the first three actions in reverse order. zhangjing turned over and snuggled deeper into his pillow instead.

two and a half hours passed before zhangjing opened his eyes again, carefully and reluctantly. once again, his arm flailed blindly around, fingers probing, before he clasped his vibrating phone, usually the source of his entertainment but, at that moment, the bane of his existence.

he turned over in his bed and silently cursed the sunlight, even brighter than before as the day brinked on afternoon, but used it to adjust his tired eyes. the vibrating stopped as he pressed the answer button and lightly grunted in question.

“hey, ‘jing.” the greeting was soft, almost unsure. it was followed by three knocks, just as soft (if not softer), against zhangjing’s door.

zhangjing murmured in invitation, foregoing words more so with the intention of prolonging the realization of how fucked up his voice sounded than preserving his throat. the door opened and yanjun entered, looking all too unnecessarily beautiful clad in a black hoodie and ripped jeans for what a lazy saturday afternoon and zhangjing’s sensitive eyes called for, cradling a plate accessorized with a bottle of pills and a glass of water.

he raised an eyebrow at the younger boy, who merely grinned. zhangjing contemplated how, in theory, a simple pair of lips and teeth shouldn’t be able to outshine the sun floating beyond the window behind him.

“chaoze told me you were sick. would like you some medicine?”

zhangjing hummed gratefully and slowly sat up, resisting a smile in case yanjun, always so intimidatingly perfect, realized he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet.

\---

zhangjing was eternally grateful for his body’s ability to heal quickly, or else he wouldn’t have been blessed with the smoke of cooked meat surrounding him, sitting at a table in a dimly lit hadilao teeming with people. well, that, and the fact that his voice had recovered in time to adequately practice and later perform with the rest of his team less than two weeks later.

they were celebrating now, a group of seven people, along with the five non-members that were gracious enough to attend a show choir competition for their saturday night plans in support, entirely too loud and talkative as they passed drinks and meat around the table.

“i’m serious,” ruibin said, words barely intelligible as his cheeks were filled with rice. he chewed and swallowed quickly when zhou rui flicked his arm before continuing. “the judge in the middle - foreign lady with the beehive nest-looking hair. she started _crying_ when xiao gui rapped.” 

“she really must have not understood chinese, then. i was literally rapping about getting rich and eating hot pot,” xiao gui deadpanned. he ceremoniously gestured to the medal hanging off his narrow shoulders and the bowl sitting in front of him. he wiped away a nonexistent tear with his finger. “maybe she was crying because she knew my dreams would come true.” 

“or, maybe because she mistook you for a high schooler and cried because you were able to achieve your goals and perform with a university team,” retorted wenjun, who would, _of course,_ say something related to their abominable height difference.

“or, she witnessed the blue stage lights reflect off your dreads and was brought to tears at the prospect that western culture somehow made itself over to poor, traditional, communist china,” xingjie lamented dramatically. he ruffled xiao gui’s hair (being the only one who could actually do so and survive) and the younger threateningly picked up his chopstick like a dagger. the table watched, erupting into laughter as he simply just poked xingjie’s pale cheek and whispered, “huba.”

the conversation diverged: zhou rui and xiao gui fell into a heated argument over who pointed out xingjie’s similarity to the famous monster hunt cartoon first; ruibin and jeffrey, both too shy for their own good, were pulling straws to decide who would have to flag down the waitress for extra tofu; wenjun, xinchun, and zeren were having a serious talk about why justin had been grounded and rendered unable to attend the show; dinghao and chaoze were contrastingly _not_ talking, zhangjing noted with disgust, instead feeding each other grilled mushrooms.

there was a light nudge to his shoulder and zhangjing glanced to his right to make eye contact with yanjun.

“you were really good tonight, by the way. if i wasn’t such a man, i maybe would have shed a tear at your high note.” zhangjing rolled his eyes, pointing his chopsticks at the boy.

“hey, men can cry too.” yanjun grinned and zhangjing hoped the warmth leaking into his cheeks was a byproduct of the smoke from the grill and the baijiu he’d been consistently sipping. 

“right, i’m sure that’s what you tell yourself. i wasn’t going to bring it up, but i know you cried watching _despicable me 3_ last week. i heard the sniffling when i stopped by.” yanjun smugly chewed on a piece of shrimp. zhangjing’s mouth dropped. a deeper warmth invaded his face, one with such intensity that no grill or alcohol could cause it, only lin yanjun.

“what were you doing in my apartment without me even knowing?” he pursed his lip in embarrassment. “the sniffling was because i had a runny nose! i was sick, remember?”

“uh huh, just remember: men can cry too, ‘jing.” yanjun winked and zhangjing, internally exploding, downed his current glass and poured another for consolation. “oh, and it’s simple. you cook good food, i’m a broke college student, and i happen to live down the hall. perfect match.”

zhangjing laughed forcefully to hide the choke begging to be released at the words. the tap of yanjun’s chopsticks against porcelain momentarily ceased when he hesitated, as if realizing how easily the phrase could be misinterpreted. he quietly cleared his throat, and the taps returned. “plus, you gave me an extra key. it’s your fault.”

“only because you told me you would ring my doorbell every morning at 6 a.m. until i gave it to you!” zhangjing helplessly exclaimed. yanjun shrugged innocently.

“it’s not my fault i eat early and you’re incompetent in the mornings.” (zhangjing ignored that, knowing this exact fact, he’d started to make breakfast the previous night so it was ready at the ungodly crack of dawn, even when he wasn’t; he sometimes hated his motherly tendencies.) yanjun paused, glancing at zhangjing’s plate. “you haven’t eaten much.”

zhangjing also sometimes hated that, despite being an english major, yanjun had found a hobby in taking as many psychology classes as he could fit into his schedule and realized he had quite the gift at observation. “yeah, bird’s stomach, y’know?” he attempted to play it off, laughing weakly. yanjun rolled his eyes at the joke, but there was a seriousness in how he stared at zhangjing.

“here, why don’t you eat some more?” yanjun asked almost challengingly, already transferring meat and vegetables from his plate to zhangjing’s before he’d received an answer. 

zhangjing looked down, biting his lip regretfully, but slowly nodded. he’d discovered it was remarkably difficult to say no to lin yanjun, especially when he always asked so sincerely.

\---

it was almost disorienting how quickly autumn’s reign had been yielded to winter. zhangjing silently cursed himself for abandoning the idea of checking the weather app in favor of his own intuition, which was undoubtedly proved useless. he therefore stood in that saturday’s 50 degrees worth of torment wearing only a thin sweater and even thinner sweatpants, hands rubbing together and praying for the sun - except it was 7:52 at night and the street lamps were already on. there was a fleeting thought as a result of cold-induced hysteria that, maybe if he could climb a tree and get his hands close enough to the bulb at the top of the pole nearest to him, he could -

“you might want to head back and grab a jacket,” yanjun remarked, eyes sliding to the boy walking alongside him. zhangjing, all too stubborn when it came to admitting his mistakes, shook his head in defiance.

“we’re already halfway there. chaoze would kill us if we showed up to his birthday party late. he sent a letter to the prime minister last year with a petition to make it a national holiday.” yanjun chuckled and zhangjing mentally clapped himself on the back because the cold was momentarily lost at the sound.

“seriously? what a guy.” zhangjing rolled his eyes.

“yeah. he literally got 500 signatures going around campus and begging. quite the legend.” yanjun laughed harder this time, throwing his head back and it might as well have been autumn because the cold was gone and zhangjing felt like he was drifting like falling leaves in the wind.

“i sure wish i’d have been friends with y’all back then. i would’ve killed to see that,” he said, the remnants of laughter still prevalent in his voice. zhangjing giggled and secretly agreed.

“that’s what you get for being so young, _freshie._ but, trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted to be around when chaoze and dinghao first got together.” he fake-gagged. “they were even worse than they are now. i honestly don’t know how i survived.”

yanjun jokingly shoved his shoulder, smirking. “is this the pining bitterness of being single i hear?” 

zhangjing, ever the snarky drama queen, quickly retorted without thought. “i could very easily chang-” he coughed, realizing his stupidity halfway through. the lamplight wasn’t enough to highlight zhangjing’s flushed face, but it did accentuate yanjun’s eyebrows, raised in amusement in the semi-darkness.

there was a small silence as zhangjing internally scolded himself for never thinking and making a fool of himself in front of such an indescribably attractive boy who, to be completely honest, he wasn’t even _that_ close to. a boy who just happened to have a habit of entering his apartment without invitation and eating his food and making zhangjing feel like he was in high school all over again, back when he had the fattest crush on zhu zhengting, student body president and real-life angel, for the better part of two years.

zhangjing must have been rubbing his hands together a little too furiously, the action fueled primarily by his thoughts (considering he’d forgotten completely about the cold), because yanjun suddenly stopped on the sidewalk. 

“you look really cold,” he stated. zhangjing’s sarcastic reply was prevented as he took notice of yanjun’s stance, a little off compared to his usual nonchalant confidence. he was fidgeting his feet, glancing at the bare trees surrounding them and not at zhangjing. “can i hold your hand?”

zhangjing blinked once. then twice. then several times in quick succession while his brain tried to process the question, as if he was sitting in music theory and his teacher had suddenly asked him for a proof of first order differential equations. yanjun looked like he was gravely regretting the question, ruffling his hair nervously and opening his mouth to stammer out an apology, and zhangjing quickly interlocked their hands. now yanjun blinked, staring at their hands and then at zhangjing, who just shrugged because he really didn’t trust his own words at the moment.

yanjun turned his head away from zhangjing to look forward as they walked. his lips were straightened but tight at the corners, as if he was holding back a secret or a smile or both.

zhangjing fathomed that the seasons must have reversed again. it suddenly felt like it was summer and he was a melted popsicle.

\---

zhangjing was desperately trying to figure out what he and yanjun were. they were friends, that much was true, but friends that sometimes held hands (but only when it’s cold and there’s a reason to) and had almost every meal together (but only because yanjun had run out of his allotted food points for the semester, right?) and had frequent movie nights where they would fall asleep only a foot apart on the couch (there was no excuse for that one).

ever since the night of chaoze’s birthday party, it seemed like yanjun was everywhere that zhangjing was, even though he was a year younger and pursuing a completely different major. zhangjing’s vocal team had learned to include just one more seat when they made reservations for monthly luncheons, but not without emphasizing that dinghao was thus far the only non-member allowed to intrude on group meals because he was chaoze’s _boyfriend._ they pushed him to explain what that _meant_ and zhangjing had instead explained that _he_ doesn’t even know what that _meant_ and was consequently unqualified to explain (his answer had been less than sufficient, as evident by the kissy faces they would all discreetly direct at him when yanjun would arrive unannounced to their morning practices).

that’s exactly what had happened that wednesday morning, and zhangjing was sure his fingernails had been shaved down from having to flick his team members, namely xiao gui and xingjie, so often for their unceasing shenanigans. he ranted the entire walk home about his idiotic colleagues, merely sighing a “nothing” when yanjun asked what specifically they had done to him.

they walked into the apartment complex and no words had to be spoken for zhangjing to hold the door open behind him as he walked into his apartment, already knowing yanjun would be following behind and staying for lunch. zhangjing stretched his arms above his head with an extremely unattractive yawn and headed to the kitchen to heat up the leftovers from last night. he indulged in the alone time as yanjun made himself comfortable on the couch, replaying little moments and their accompanying questions over and over in his head. why had yanjun been so eager to attend practice, which even zhangjing found extremely boring at times, though he was one of the people actively participating? what had yanjun been discussing in hushed whispers with zhou rui and ruibin during one of the breaks - and had he been imagining all three of them quickly glancing at him in the middl-

zhangjing withheld a yelp as he jumped at the sensation of two hands grabbing his sides. he turned around quickly and menacingly glared at yanjun, hand raised as if it was about to slap him. the impulsive action stopped, his hand weakly returning to his side as he noticed their extremely close proximity. zhangjing’s back dug into the counter behind him and yanjun’s hands lightly hovered at the sides of his waist. their legs were touching as yanjun leaned down. he chuckled under his breath at zhangjing’s foolishness, affectionately bringing a hand up to poke his cheek and let it graze his face as he cupped his jaw.

zhangjing held his breath, looking up with wide eyes that unwordingly asked, _what are we?_

yanjun smiled slightly and leaned further down. his eyes seemed like they were answering zhangjing’s question with his own, but he didn’t need to ask as he closed the distance and silently, softly, unsurely pressed his lips against zhangjing’s.

he’d realized by then that zhangjing couldn’t ever say no to him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> (lmao i literally just finished weightless yesterday and i'm already out with a oneshot. someone stop me before i completely use up my vocabulary.)
> 
> i just love zhangjun.
> 
> that's it. that's the note. thanks for reading <3
> 
> twt: @zzzycjohnson


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